OUR garden needs taking in hand. The unkempt lawn is littered with water guns and manky trainers. A grizzly old fork has been lying on the table since we had a barbecue last summer. Surely, with five of us living here, we can transform our outdoor space into a thing of beauty. Look at Kim Wilde, who'd barely dabbled with gardening before making it her second career. One minute she was warbling Kids In America. Next thing she's moved to the country and created a stunning three-acre cottage garden from land which, apparently, "looked like a field". I read on her website that this was achieved with the help of a "gardener/builder friend". Ha! We have no such friend. There's no Bob Flowerdew living nearby, ever willing to pop by and rip up the rampaging convolvulus.

To make it less overwhelming, we decide to divide the "project" (ie the whole garden) into lots of smaller, more manageable sub-projects (ie tiny bits of the garden). I'm taking the advice of Sue Kay, a clutter counsellor I interviewed recently who stressed that "you should never take on more than can be achieved in 30 minutes". Otherwise you'll want to slope off for a sly ciggie, she might have added, or concuss yourself with a shovel.

While J digs over the veg patch, I am assigned the task of weeding the patio. Somehow, we seem to have acquired eight children today, but surely they can lark about while J and I get to work. After all, that's why we decided we needed a garden in the first place - for children to play in. If we hadn't had kids, we'd have been perfectly satisfied with a pot plant in the kitchen. Actually, we probably wouldn't have even bothered with that.

I have been weeding for less than a minute when the children report that they "don't know what to do". I try to pitch them a tent on the lawn, which is impossible as the poles are missing. Instead, I construct a makeshift den from a windbreak with a sheet draped on top. This thrills them for around 30 seconds. "Can we have a picnic in it?" someone asks.

Dutifully, I roast a vast tray of chicken drumsticks and bring them outside with all manner of accompaniments. No-one looks terribly impressed. I realise now that "picnic" actually meant biscuits and sweets. "What can we do now?" a child demands.

"Just just enjoy the garden," I suggest pleasantly. He winces, as if I'd said, "Just busy yourself with this geometry workbook I found in the cupboard." In desperation, I send the older kids to the newsagent to buy water balloons. Spirits rise as these are filled with water - which naturally involves flooding the bathroom - and lobbed at each other, bursting on impact.

Around the corner, out of harm's way, J is toiling on the veg patch. He has planted lettuce, broccoli, radishes, potatoes and courgettes. I have managed to weed approximately one square foot of patio and been hit on the neck with a water balloon. I'm sucking furiously on a nicotine lozenge. An idea hits me: I could set up a cake decorating project. That would keep them happy. To decorate mine, instead of using normal icing I could make a concoction from ground-up lozenges and slather it on. That would keep my stress levels in check.

Tired of the den, some of the children have set up a stall at our gate to sell books they no longer want. After 10 minutes they wander off, suggesting that I "look after the stall".

"Then you can take us to the park," another child adds.

It's J, in fact, who saves the day, suggesting that they sow seeds for our future herb garden. A couple of weeks later, the garden is smothered in weeds. I am disillusioned as I read that Ms Wilde finds gardening "so healing". However, at least tiny green shoots have appeared in our herb trays. Success! "What kind of herbs are they?" I ask J.

"I can't remember," he mutters.